


Happy Ever After

by RedellaRed2001



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: & Tonks, A saint, Grimmauld Place, Implied Mpreg, Lily and James Potter live, M/M, Molly Weasley is an angel sent from the heavens above, Mpreg, Oh Sirius lives too, Teddy is adorable, but they're kind of dicks at the start, honestly, so does Snape, so does remus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-08 12:01:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedellaRed2001/pseuds/RedellaRed2001
Summary: Don't get him wrong, Draco knows that it's completely unbecoming for him to pine. As a Malfoy he's always been taught to just take what he wants - damn the consequences.Kinda hard to take what you want when it's been gone for a year and a half.Also, having a baby puts the breaks on the whole 'take what you want thing'. Who would have thought?





	1. Typical

                                                                                    

 

I like to think I'd never have looked his way if it hadn't been for that frightful summer. That perhaps if the war hadn't been looming over our heads, if the world was still the same world in which we argued like cat and dog, I wouldn't have succumbed to temptations. Maybe I'd have taken up a hobby instead - I've always fancied myself an excellent public speaker. I could've stood up for a few good causes, had my name splashed across every front page in England _just_ to irritate him. I certainly, most definitely, would not have found myself running around killing off pieces of a madman's soul in an effort to rid the world of him for good. 

Except, that's just what I did. Spent a whole summer, best part of a year, apparating from place to place. Searching for randomly dis-guarded soul parts and listening to Ronald Weasley's crappy radio. It didn't happen on purpose, obviously. It's not as if I _threw_ myself at them that night of the wedding. Merlin forbid, I have _some_ dignity. We camped out in woods most of the time (I _hate_ the woods, if you didn't know, and yet I didn't complain once: medal, please?) and wondered _what the hell_ we were doing with ourselves, but it was plenty better than spending the year at the manor. At the end of it all: the war, the running, the fighting: they gave me an Order of Merlin, so I suppose the dirty woods were worth it. Do you know how easy it is to get free gift baskets from _all_ the best places when you own an _Order of Merlin_? First Class, no less. 

Of course it couldn't just stop there. Life would be _far_ too easy if it had just stopped where everything was _finally_ working out for me. 

Lily and James Potter popped up. Yes, you read that right, _Lily and James Potter_. _Long_ dead parents of the one, the only, Harry James Potter. Turns out they'd been hiding away in Australia somewhere with orders from Dumbledore to stay hidden. Merlin knows why, I never found the time to ask, but the papers say they thought it in Harry's best interest. 

Harry did _not_ find it was in his best interest. Harry was pissed, more pissed than I have ever had the privilege of seeing in all the years we've been at each others' throats. It was a right treat to watch him flip out at someone else for a change. The only person who was possibly more mad about the whole thing was Molly Weasley; who couldn't, and still can't, for the life of her understand why any parent would thrust that kind of pain on their child. Remus Lupin was terribly, terribly hurt by the entire ordeal.

It only escalated when the Potter's dragged Sirius Black out of hiding too. 

Merlin almighty, the fit Harry threw over that is one I shall relive for the rest of my days. Finally he grew a backbone and told them all to go fuck themselves. Hallelujah. 

It was this event that tipped the iceberg and damned us all to a sinking ship. Harry Potter went on a week long pub crawl before the inevitable happened. 

He found his way into my bed. Yes, my bed. I am well aware of the implications that has, and I encourage you to bestow yourself with the knowledge that Harry Potter and I indeed had a tumble in between the sheets. He had been in one of his rare sober states, his mother had come to visit again, insisting that they have a conversation and I kid you not when I tell you that his reply was ' _I'm a little busy right now, Lily, Draco and I would like to be left alone_ '. I know! The nerve of the guy! I'd had half a mind to yell at him, even if it had gotten me kicked out of his house, but he'd made good on his accusation soon enough. 

So, that is how I ended up still here, in Grimmauld Place, almost two years later. No war, no fighting, no life threatening situations - just the book on my lap, the coffee in my hand, and a nice warm blanket to keep out the cold. It's homely, much more homely than the manor ever was - especially after all the remodelling. Courtesy of me. Who else could have such taste? Really, though, the living room looks so much better with the cream marble fireplace. It's a beautiful piece, I couldn't pass it up. It squares out the rough edges of the old fireplace without having to get rid of the structure. The same log pit sits in it, but the surrounding décor is completely different. The marble makes the fireplace seem moderner, all the while keeping the traditional sense to it. An ingenious idea on my part, truly. The flat-topped surface of it leaves room for photo frames and glass sets. There's a splendid set of glass candles on the left hand side of it and a few photo frames with pictures of Granger, Weasley, Harry himself and I in them on the other side. 

Obviously changing the fireplace meant I had to have the walls repainted too. Gone are the days filled with peeling wallpaper and damp smells. A lovely _repose grey_ paint decorates the walls of the living room instead, bringing out the cream in the marble fireplace. The new paint called for new bookshelves (you absolutely _cannot_ have _pine oak_ bookshelves with _repose grey_ walls): the old ones were quickly replaced with this wonderful pair of rustic cream bookshelves that push against the far wall, either side of the door, and have no back to them. It's a great design, allowing the wall behind it to bring colour to the bookshelves. 

The sofas followed. Honestly, the previous sofas stank of wet dog and had endless amounts of animal hairs woven into the seams of the leather. They were horrid. I replaced them with a small, light grey corner sofa that sits a few feet away from the door, over by the window and two light grey arm chairs to match. All three pieces of furniture have cream cushions placed in the corners. They're fabric, as well: none of that leather crap the Black's clearly favoured. In the middle of all three of the seating there's a nice, marble-topped coffee table. 

The curtains were swapped from the dreary drats that'd been there for centuries to a floor length grey pair. All the skirting boards were glossed over in white and Kreacher now cleans the chandelier twice a week. Honestly, for people with a wide fortune you'd have expected them to have made these changes years ago, wouldn't you? Anyone with taste could have told you the house needed updating. 

As you can probably tell, I had a lot of fun redecorating, which is most likely why I redecorated the whole house instead of just that one room. Yes! I'm an addict! I'm aware. It's a deep, dark secret I shall take with me to the grave. The results really are fantastic though, and I have a brilliant excuse! 

I had to baby proof _everything_. It was a nightmare. Who knew the Black's were so fond of their booby traps? Not me, that's for sure. It took me months to trap-free the house in order to prepare it for a baby. 

And that brings me to the final, vital inkling of information to round off my horridly bad luck. That little ' _Draco and I would like to be left alone_ ' turned into a week full of fucking that left me up the duff. _Me_! Of all people! I don't regret it of course, how could I? My beautiful son hasn't a flaw on his whole being and I fell in love with the little brat the moment I held him in my arms. 

So that gives me the beautiful baby, the wonderful home, and the everlasting comfortability you'd expect for a war hero such as myself. What else is missing?

Other than, you know, _Harry fucking Potter_. The guy gets the shock of his life (what with his parents - and Sirius Black - _not_ being dead and all), drinks his way through England, sleeps with his childhood rival, and then fucks off to who knows where to do who knows what. 

Typical. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

                                                                       

 

It's been way over a year since I last saw him. Not that I'm counting or anything, but I'd say that's fairly enough time to get over whatever crisis he was having. If you ask me he's being slightly dramatic about the whole thing. What orphan doesn't wish for their parents to live again? He could be living it up right now with his mum and dad as if the past nineteen years never happened. He could be pretending he never had to live with those awful muggles, but what's he doing instead? Trolloping around the world - country, whatever - and hiding from everyone. Ungrateful prat. 

Also, if he were here then _I_ wouldn't have to be doing _this_. I assure you _he'd_ be the one getting out of bed at all hours of the night to deal with the child. After all, it's _his_ fault _either_ of us have to do it (that takes two to tango shit doesn't apply here, my friends). 

"Come along now Scorpius, daddy wants to go back to bed." 

Scorpius, in question, shows _every sign_ of hearing what I said and absolutely _no sign_ of understanding it. He blinks up at me with his big green eyes (there's a flicker of grey in them, _I swear_ , he's not all Potter), lifts his hand up to his mouth to suck on it and doesn't look as though he's going to be going back to sleep any time soon. Ah, the joys of parenthood.

He's adorable, my Scorpius, I swear. Even if the only thing he seems to have acquired from me is his hair - thank Merlin for small mercies. I'd possibly have cursed the gods to oblivion if the poor soul had ended up with _Potter's_ hair. Despite his insistence to have me awake at all hours of the night, there's no way I could ever be angry with him. Those eyes ( _yes_ , his father's eyes) win me over every time (don't go thinking that means Potter gets away with everything too, that's not how it works). His skin's a tanned sort of colour, pale in places and tanner in others. It's a strange colouring that suits him rather well. He'll be breaking hearts in a decade or so, that's for sure.

Something I take full credit for, by the way.

"Don't you want to let daddy sleep?" I know it's madness to talk to your seven month old child as if they're going to have a full on chat with you, but quite frankly he's about all the company I get these days, "Daddy loves you, didn't you know? Daddy loves you very much, and he'd like it if you'd let him sleep. Just for awhile, Scorp."

Scorpius continues to blink up at me obliviously.

"No?" I sigh, resting my chin on the side of his cot, "I didn't think so."

As my child, you can imagine that he's rather spoiled. He is, after all, a Malfoy by blood. Malfoy's do _not_ live in squalors. There was no way _my_ son would be having anything less than perfect, especially for his nursery.

So, as you may also imagine, I spent a lot of time decorating this particular room. Strangely enough I started with the closet; enlarging it and turning it into a walk-in. The carpets (a lovely champagne colour, imported from Italy) are quite possibly the softest you'll ever have felt in your life. _Those_ were most definitely worth the four week wait. The ivory wardrobes lining both long walls, opposite each other, are full of baby clothes at the moment, but they're adjustable. They have mirrors on the doors of each wardrobe. At the far end of the closet is an ivory shelving unit that came with the wardrobes. It's not got any doors to it, but the shelves are set to hold shoes and socks and other little things. He may not need the space now, but they're rather practical units to have around the home. I had one fitted in my own closet. There's a brilliant glass chandelier in there too, hanging from around the lights.

The nursery itself follows a blue theme (stereotypical, I know). The walls are painted the faintest shade of blue I could find, the floor shares the same carpet as the closet, and the lights have been charmed to dim when bed time's coming around. The bed: that my darling son rarely uses: Lily Potter gave to me.

Okay, yes, I know. Considering the extent of the mental damage those people did on my Harry - not that there was much room _left_ to damage - I probably shouldn't have been accepting things like baby gifts from them, but it's Harry's mother! What was I supposed to do? Tell her to jog on? Alright, I admit, perhaps I could've declined the gift. Though why should I? She _is_ Scorpius's grandmother, by blood, whether or not she and her son are on speaking terms, and without Potter around to tell me otherwise I didn't see the problem in letting her buy me things like, say, the most beautifully carved, ivory, French polished oak cot that I'd ever seen.

What can I say? I'm an extortionist. I picked the trait up from my father.

Where was I? Oh yes. The cot is absolutely brilliant. Despite how _unappreciative_ Scorp is of it, it's a beautiful piece of furniture. It goes with the toy box in the corner (he'll need those toys one day! No matter what Hermione bloody Granger says), and the end table by the cot itself. Don't ask why I needed an end table for a nursery, just be assured that it fits in rather nicely with the rest of the room and that the reason for it being there has something to do with a muggle baby monitor that took me two months to figure out (bloody Granger and her gifts, again). Alongside that stupid little muggle contraption (that may have actually been very useful when I figured out how to use it), I've placed an adorable blue photo frame with a picture of Scorp and I at the beach a few months ago. There's also an ivory, leather armchair in the left corner that's spelled to stop stains.

The point is, I should really consider going into interior design or something because frankly I think I have a God-given gift.

A giggle draws my attention back to the small child beneath me.

"What's so funny?" I reach a hand through the bars and Scorp instantly goes to grip it, "Is my pain entertaining to you? Is my suffering your source of delight?"

He blinks up at me; big, doe eyes holding all the innocence in the world. A soft smile curves across his beautiful little face, that little expression capturing my heart, forcing me to realise I'll forever bend to this tiny creature's every whim - he gets that from his father too.

With a huff, I continue, "Definitely your fathers son, let me tell you that."

Sinking to the floor, I fold my legs underneath me and watch as he twirls my fingers in his hands like their foreign objects. Those soft little fingers trace invisible patterns across my palms. He's so quiet, so easily entertained. He never cries very loud, never demands attention. He's such a passive, gentle soul. There's so much innocence wrapped into him that it makes me wonder if my mother looked at me the same way as I look at him. If she could stare at me for hours, if she would have slaughtered hundreds in a heartbeat just to protect me. It makes me wonder if my father would have looked and me and felt the same.

He's so smart, too. Honestly he'll do brilliant thing one day. Sometimes I think about what he'll become, what he'll do in a world that hates half his bloodline and adores the other. He crawls now, and he's half way to walking. He plays with the other children well enough, though he's not too fond on other adults. There's so much life in his little body, so much understanding.

If you had asked me, at sixteen years old, if I would up feeling so much love toward such a small being, that I'd be willing to die for them in a heartbeat, I'd have probably called you a complete imbecile and have asked you to get your head sorted out. Yet here I am, nineteen years old, sat on the nursery floor and staring at the centre of my universe.

It makes me sort of sad that Harry's missing this. He'd have loved it all, I reckon. I always knew he'd make a wonderful parent. How could he not? There's too much good in him to be anything different. I can imagine Harry would have volunteered to change nappies. He'd have demanded that bath time be _his_ job. He wouldn't have minded getting up for Scorp in the middle of the night, that's for sure. He'd probably offer to do it, knowing him. I know he'd love taking Scorp out; taking him to the Burrow, to the park, to the ministry - anywhere people could see the beautiful little life that he and I created together. I like to think he'd have liked this house too. That he'd have liked the changes I made, liked the nursery, the bedrooms, the _kitchen_. I like to think that despite how much we despised each other before, we could've gotten past that for the sake of our son. That we could've been friends.

That we could've been a family. I think he'd have liked that, too.

Sighing, I watch Scorp turn my hand over, "We're alright, you and me, aren't we?" Scorp, hearing the sound of my voice, lifts his eyes to meet mine, blinking away, "We're going to be just fine."

I keep thinking that Potter'll just walk through the front door one day. That he'll tumble out of the floo covered in soot but no worse for wear and we'll all just it down to dinner and talk. I know it's not realistic, I know that. Don't get me wrong, I'm not _pining_ for him. Merlin no! A Malfoy _never_ pines. I just...

Well, as much as I like to think growing up without my father would have probably made me a better person all around, I can't help but think Harry not being around is depriving Scorp of... well... of Harry.

On that note, I'm far too depressed to go back to bed. Alone, at least. Whatever Granger may say about the importance of leaving a child in their own bed, I honestly couldn't care less. I'm a selfish human being, the world can weep the losses.

"Come on then, Scorp," Pushing myself up from the floor, I lean over the cot, slip my hands around him, and lift him into my arms. He fidgets for a moment, adjusting himself to rest comfortable against my chest, his fist in his mouth once more, "Let's go watch the crappy muggle television that Auntie Mione bought us, shall we?"

The walk to my bedroom is a short one - just across the hall, actually. Closing the door behind us, I move toward the bed and let Scorp down onto the covers. He wiggles his way up to the pillows, crawling and slipping for the entirety of his journey up there. He's happy enough to play with the duvet's decorative lace as I search for the remote thing that turns the television box on.

A few moments later, I clamber into bed beside him, moving the covers so that he's underneath them too. He's still small, never mind being a few months off a year old, so the covers cover him up mostly: but his head of blonde hair and his sleepsuit covered arms pop out. He's back to wiggling his way closer to me, crawling to my side and using my ribs as leverage to push himself up to look at me while I turn the television on.

"What do you think Scorpius? A bit of... what is it?... EastEnders?" He blinks at me absently, "Yes, quite right. Not that then. What's this other one? Something about horses and fools."


End file.
